Life of legends
by Ave Imperium
Summary: Heroes, spectres, killers and healers. Everyone has a story to share.
1. A dance of shadows (Irelia & Zed)

**Story One : A dance of shadows**

 _(Irelia & Zed)_

* * *

The cold steel of her swords felt reassuringly familiar in Irelia's hands after a day spent looking at maps and reading reports. So it was with great reluctance that she finally released the hilt of her blade and let it float up to her shoulders, joining its sisters with a tremble.

Sweat ran down her brow, dripping off her nose and staining her plain white tunic. As usual, Irelia had removed her heavy armor and ceremonial crest as soon as decorum allowed it. Even now, with midnight fast approaching, the air was stifling and the sun hung hesitantly at the edge of the sky.

With a muted groan, Irelia stretched her arms out, wriggling her fingers and flexing her sore muscles. Ever since her great victory at the Placidium, she had begun to see less and less of the enemy and more and more reports _about_ the enemy. Only once her duties were done and the day was over could she even relax into familiar katas and practice routines with her blades. Which she would invariably do, be there sun, stars, snow or storm.

The halls of the great palace palace were mostly deserted except for a few servants finishing their duties and the occasional guard, who would never fail to salute her and stand to attention until she had walked out of sight. At first, Irelia had felt uncomfortable with such honors, but one grew used to it when one was surrounded by them day in and day out.

A gentle breeze stirred the heavy air and Irelia paused at the window from whence it came, reaching up and pulling the pin out of her hair. When she trained, she kept her hair in a tight knot, careful to avoid getting it caught in either her armor, or her blades. The tightness in her scalp disappeared as her dark waves of hair unraveled and fell around her shoulders, stirred by the soft whisper of wind.

She closed her eyes and leaned forward, her hands resting on the cold stone. For now, she and her people were at peace. No more soldiers and citizens alike dying in the senseless slaughter the Noxians and Zaunites had wrought upon them. Now, instead of planning battles and leading her men, Irelia hunted shadows.

A grimace crossed her pale features and she pushed herself away from the window. The gilt halls around her glittered in the dying embers of the sun, reflecting golden light throughout the palace. Shadows, as it were, were incredibly hard to catch. Even with the Kinkou standing at her side, the Order of Shadows and their ever elusive leader slipped through her fingers like sand every time she sought to close her grasp around him.

For the past year, she had been hunting Zed and his followers, to no avail. Irelia's hand clenched at her side as she walked through the deserted halls, stewing in her own frustrations. How could anyone remain so elusive, when so many resources were thrown at them in an attempt to find them?

The main gardens were as empty as the nearby hallways as Irelia strode through them. Gentle scents of herbs and flowers reached her and her steps slowed. Karma always said the gardens helped her refocus her thoughts. Halfway through, Irelia stopped next to a fountain and knelt in front of it. Water shot in glittering jets from the mouth of a stone fish, like a thousand diamonds.

Slowly, her anger abated and Irelia breathed out, closing her eyes. As her senses returned to normal, so did her sharp mind. Her eyes shot open and she jumped up. At first, she had disregarded the empty halls because she was so caught up in her own thoughts. However, the gardens were never deserted. Regardless of the time of day, they had at least two guards patrolling it, she would know, she had assigned their roles.

Now, there were none. Two of Irelia's blade slipped down her arms and she caught them easily, while the two other ones circled her slowly of their own volition. A flash of movement in the corner of her eye had one of her blade zipping through the air and slamming into a pillar. The old stone cracked like a glacier and her steel buried itself into the stone.

She yanked it out with a thought and it flew back to her. Another shadow flickered, just out of her vision and her heart pounded faster in her chest. Perhaps she didn't need to hunt down the Order of Shadows after all. They had come for her instead.

They were assassins and trained killers, Irelia was a soldier, alone in an open space. If they wanted to kill her now, she did not doubt that they could, through trickery or numbers. Slowly, her sandaled feet barely making a sound against the soft grass, Irelia retreated towards the halls she had just left. If she was fast and silent, perhaps she could warn the guards in time. Assassins were not dealt with easily, but they could not do their job when faced by an army.

A whisper behind her had her spinning around with her swords at the ready, one in each hand and two more floating above her, quivering like two straining arrows.

The hall before he was choked in shadows and the whispers grew louder, until it was like a hundred voices, desperately calling out to her. Another step closer and their pleas increased. The shadows twisted violently upon themselves. A figure stepped out of the writhing darkness.

Irelia was a tall woman. She towered over the short Soraka and even Karma and Master Yi only reached her brow. The man before her still looked down on her. His eyes burned with a red fire, like the furnace of an evil god and his figure looked like carved stone, wrapped in steel and black cloth. Two large vambraces covered his arms and in one swift movement, a pair of blades slid out of them like claws.

Yes, he fit the description that Shen had given her. "Zed," she said in an even voice, despite her pounding heart. Why did the air have to be so damnably unbreathable? It felt like she was choking and she hadn't even crossed swords with him yet.

"Don't bother looking for help."

Gods, what kind of normal human being had a voice like that? It echoed as if he spoke from within a cave, and his helmet twisted his words until she could almost imagine him spitting each one out like a particularly disgusting morsel of food. He tilted his head to the side. "Your guards are dead."

"You will die too, for your crimes," she replied. Perhaps she should have kept her armor, though she doubted the steel would have stopped the man in front of her from finding weaknesses and gaps. His minions were strong, she had fought them before and she dared not imagine how talented their master would be. "Have you come to kill me yourself, or will you leave your minions to do that."

"They are too weak to kill you," he replied in a matter of fact voice. "A waste."

Irelia's eyebrows shot up, and her surprise must have been clear for Zed laughed. It was not a pleasant sound.

"You are strong, Will of the Blades," said Zed and though it must have been a compliment, his voice dripped with condescension when speaking her title. "You would have been a great Shadow."

"I am not a monster, nor a killer like you."

He was silent then and merely stared at her for a few moments before shaking his head slowly. "You people will never comprehend their deception, or what they truly represent. That is why you must die."

"Their?" asked Irelia, her interest piqued despite herself. Shen had warned her that Zed was a manipulator as well as a trained killer. She should not be listening to him, letting him delay the fight and play with her emotions. But few had ever heard the Shadows speak, and none could claim to have traded words with their Master.

"It doesn't matter," spat Zed and he took a step forward, falling into a combat stance. "You will be dead soon."

He was fast, faster than anyone she had ever seen. Even Master Yi, with his swift blade and lightning strikes couldn't compare to the fluid speed that bled through Zed's every move. His first strike was parried only by the agility of her free blades as they zipped down and batted away his own. Her foe flowed with the parry and darted beneath her first blow, bringing up his second blade to slice at her knees.

Irelia had struck to evaluate, learn what her foe was made of and if possible, incapacitate him. Zed struck to kill, maim and hurt. It became ever more apparent as they clashed through the gardens, trampling flowers beds and leaping over bushes with agility born of hundreds of hour of practice. At first, Irelia faltered beneath his rain of blows. Every one of them was like the strike of a scalpel, with an intended destination and a precise path. He was unwavering and unhesitating.

As the fight went on though, her warriors mind took over. She began to decipher patterns in his attacks, and more than once, her blades jumped into the path of his blows before he had time to fully commit, breaking off his offense abruptly.

Where she had begun by backtracking into the flowers, now Zed had to trample herbs as Irelia slowly amped up her speed. Four swords was more than two, a simple fact that had won her countless fights. Even against an opponent as skilled as Zed, it began to show.

He parried another blow and leapt back, smoothly somersaulting over a large bush. His chest was heaving, no doubt almost as much as hers and she felt an absurd flash of pity for him. He must have been boiling beneath all that armor and leather. Irelia lifted a finger to pushed back a string of damp hair.

The thick silver bracelet on her forearm saved her life. In it, she saw the reflection of something dark rushing at her from behind and leapt to the side at the last moment. The bush dividing them was almost cut in half as a dark figure slashed where she had stood a moment before, then dissipated.

"You have no honor, I thought this was between the two of us," she growled, getting back up and ignoring the trembling in her legs.

Zed didn't move, except for another tilt of his masked head. "My assassins are long gone, girl."

"Then who-" she was cut short as something appeared above her and forced her to dodge out of the way. This time, she got a good look at her unknown attacker and barely held back a gasp. The shape was distorted and made of pure darkness, but the resemblance was unmistakable. It was Zed.

Another one of his laughs, as Zed took a leisurely walk around the bush towards her. His chest had stopped heaving and he seemed ready to fight once more. Irelia felt far less prepared. "Did your precious Kinkou not share that detail? Did you think I named it the Order of Shadows in a flight of fancy? Fool," he snarled, and struck again.

Suddenly, the balance was no longer in her favor. Four blades were good, but it barely balanced it out when facing two enemies at once. While her own silvery swords flew through Zed's shadow as if he were a ghost, she had no doubt that its own blades would not do the same to her.

The gardens once more filled with the clash of steel upon steel, and her grunts of exertion as he pushed her farther and farther back. Half a dozen cuts adorned her now, like bloody tattoos and she prayed that he hadn't poisoned his blades, for she doubted anything would save her if he had.

Finally, she could take it no more and the next time his blades slammed into her own, her arms gave out and they dropped from nerveless hands. She stumbled back and her two floating blades took their fallen sisters places, while the shadow darted down and kept a boot over the ones on the ground. They vibrated beneath the shadowy shoe, but did not move.

"Now, your pathetic crusade against me and my own ends. Your followers will learn to leave us be," said Zed, taking a step forward and pulling a sharp metal disc from his back.

Irelia's vision was blurred with sweat and exhaustion. She had never fought so hard in her life, never been so close to the edge of defeat. Her whole body ached as if she had been dueling a Noxian with a warhammer and taken blows, repeatedly. The assassins strength was incredible, but alone she could have defeated him. With his shadow…

Taking a deep breath, Irelia grasped her swords in sweaty hands and forced her legs to stay steady. If she had to die, she would not let him take her quietly, slicing her throat from afar with his steel discus.

"Irelia!" shouted a voice so familiar she almost crumpled to the ground in relief. With blurry eyes, Irelia saw a figure robed in purple rushing to her, an aura of green power roiling around her like fire. Even from this far, she could feel the rejuvenating powers that Karma always kept in check as it roiled over her and filled her veins with new fire. The gash on her brow scabbed over in an instant and she could suddenly see clearer.

Before her, Zed hissed in annoyance and turned towards the disturbance. Karma stood in the middle of the courtyard, her whole body alight with power and her eyes two orbs of fire. Even during the war, Irelia had never seen her friend let loose so much power.

The assassins disk went flying towards her and fizzled into nothing a few feet in front of the mage. In return, an orb of green fire blasted through Zed's shadow and it disintegrated with a muted wail.

"Your presence is not welcome within these walls, assassin."

By the time Irelia turned back to Zed, he was already gone. In his place, a few shadows roiled on the ground and dark runes began to fade around them. Some sort of ritual of escape, and a promise to one day return and finish the job…

* * *

 _A/N: Hey, hope you enjoyed the short. I'm probably going to update this with other shorts whenever I feel inspired. They will be loosely linked and some might continue previous ones.  
If you want to see a particular one, post a review about it or pm me. No guarantee but you never know, I might like the idea._

(Sorry about the spelling, it usually isn't stellar when I don't have someone revising for me.)


	2. A meeting with Vengeance (Yasuo & Kal)

**Story Two: A meeting with Vengeance**

 _(Yasuo & Riven & Kalista)_

* * *

Blood seeped through Yasuo's clenched fingers, trickling down raw knuckles and down onto the sodden grass. The storm had passed now. The trees around him shook with the occasional gale of wind, showering him with hundreds of droplets. He barely felt them, everything was dwarfed by the pain in his midriff.

Slowly, his sword fell to the side, falling to the muddy ground with a dull thud. The rain had already washed away the blood of another that stained his blade and it shone in the weak sun.

Beside him lay a man, face down in the drenched grass, with his dark hair hiding his face. Another hunter, coming after him to avenge the death of the elder. Another dead man. He had worn the clothes of a temple guardian, but his youth an inexperience had betrayed him in the end. Yasuo had underestimated him and the young man had slashed his stomach and relaxed, as though victorious. A mistake only a beginner would make, no matter how talented they were.

He glanced down at his stomach once more. Dark blood, nearly black in the light was spreading from the deep gash in his belly. The boys sword had neatly bisected his abdominals and reached within, nicking something vital. Even now, he felt his lifeblood seeping out of him in a steady flow.

With a curse, Yasuo fell to his knees and nearly cried out in pain as another lance of agony shot through him. It felt as if a boulder was crushing him in half, a dull pain that was everywhere at once, unappeasable and unrelenting. The ground was slick beneath him, but it took him all his strength to drag himself across the grass towards the corpse. Every inch was torture and he nearly bit out his tongue and passed out in pain before his grasping hands touched fabric.

For a few moments, Yasuo simply stared up at the sky. He could see patches of it through the trees, as grey as steel, with clouds still roiling like an ocean. Then, with another groan he turned over and began to pad across the mans body. His hands, already sticky with his own blood now dipped into his foes as they crossed his torso and the deep stab wound in his heart. His movements grew increasingly desperate and erratic, but there was naught to be found. No medical supplies, no bandages, nothing.

Yasuo sighed and fell back against the boy, his head resting against his chest. "I guess you got what you wanted after all," he murmured through lips he could hardly feel. Was it him, or was the sky growing darker? Perhaps the storm was coming once again. He smiled and a small laugh escaped his lips, along with a bubble of blood. At least they would be washed clean by the rain for the next ones to happen upon them. They hadn't strayed far from the road in their fight.

"But… my vengeance?" he added. There was no one to listen to him, but it felt good to hear a voice, no matter how weak it sounded. How would he prove his innocence, condemn the real killer if he died now, in a nameless forest in the corner of Ionia? For years, he had wandered, seeking the name of the one who destroyed his life. All he had were rumors, whispers of another person who knew the wind as he did. A woman with red eyes. He didn't even have a name to write down before he died. "I need my vengeance," he whispered in an even lower voice.

But now, his eyes felt incredibly heavy, too heavy to keep open and he relaxed into the welcome embrace of oblivion, where wounds could not hurt him.

Hours must have passed since he closed his eyes, thought Yasuo as he cracked them open once more with a groan. Yet he didn't feel substantially weaker and he certainly wasn't dead. The stiff body behind him still smelled of sweat and alcohol and he still stunk of the road. Hell was probably worse than this. The sun had been high, if weak, when he passed out and now it was dark all around him. Thunder shook the trees but no rain fell and a strange greenish light illuminated the ground around him.

Yasuo sat up slowly, his body crying out in anguish as he forced it into a sitting position and looked around with half-closed, bleary eyes. Everything was glowing, and shadows were gathering nearby like waves of sand in the Shuriman deserts. "Your call has been heard," said a voice, echoing as if it came from beyond the grave. "Vengeance is at hand."

Then, a shape drew itself in the mist and stepped forward into the light. If Yasuo had had the energy to do so, he would have recoiled at the sight. Before him stood a woman, or what had once been a woman. She was dressed in ancient armor, with a plumed helmet and a javelin in her hand. That was not what truly caught his eyes.

Whoever she was, the woman had a massive spear shoved straight through her chest, as if someone had forcefully pushed it through her armored shoulder blades. More than that, her skin glowed with a corps-like light and had the color of a long-dead body. Her arms were emaciated and her face looked like a blank mask with wide, staring eyes and unmoving black lips.

"What are you?" he managed to ask.

"The Spirit of Vengeance. We answer your call." She glided forward, her feet barely kissing the grass until she was nearly face to face with him. Then, she stretched out a claw-like hand and tilted her head to side. "Give it to us, and vengeance shall be done."

Now he remembered. Everyone in Ionia knew the stories, the legends, but few believed them and even fewer claimed to have proof. He had heard of the Starchild, an envoy of the gods on Earth. How she could summon down stars from the sky and heal those afflicted with even the most grievous of wounds. A wry smile crossed his lips, why couldn't she have been the one to happen upon him. Instead, he had the spirit of vengeance.

He knew of it, all Ionians knew of the one they would ward away during the Blood Moon festival with their masks and rituals that no one took seriously anymore. Despite his lack of belief, she now stood before him, unmoving and with her hand stretched out to him. Give it to us, she had said and Yasuo knew what she spoke of. In exchange for his soul she would hunt down the one who had killed his master until the ends of the earth.

Almost without realizing, Yasuo lifted his hand towards the waiting spirit. It was so tempting, so easy. He would no longer bear the weight of his crimes, no longer suffer the agony of guilt. His brother could not haunt his dreams in death and finally, the one who had caused him to suffer so much would be dead at the hands of Vengeance itself.

So simple, easy. His hand fell back to his side slowly.

"No." If Yasuo wanted easy, he would have surrendered himself to justice years ago and accepted his fate. He grit his teeth and forced trembling legs to support him until he stood face to face with the spirit and stared into its blank, glowing eyes. "I will avenge myself, I do not need you to do it for me, spirit."

He could have sworn that it smiled, then it nodded once and turned away from him, towards the mist that still heaved and twisted like some sort of monster from the Void. When it reached it, the spirit turned back to him and even as the mists encompassed it and its shape shimmered and faded he heard its words, as if whispered in his ear. "Farewell, avenger."

The skies began to clear and the sun broke out once more, kissing him with its gentle warmth. Yasuo fell back to the ground and coughed. He touched his lips and his hand came back red with blood. The road was only a hundred meters away, perhaps he could drag himself towards it. Even as he inched forward, he knew he had not the strength to do so. With weary eyes he looked towards it and paused. Was death playing tricks with him, or was someone running his way?

* * *

"And that's how I got this scar," said Yasuo, lifting his shirt and tracing a finger along the thick, knotted flesh that ran across his stomach. With a contended sigh he leaned back into the booth and reached a hand to grab his beer. His free arm fell around the shoulders of the stunning white-haired woman beside him.

With a laugh, Riven stretched out her legs to the other side of their U shaped booth and leaned into his side. Two empty plates of seafood sat in front of them and their third beers had just arrived.

When yasuo looked down at her, he could see a faint blush on her tanned cheeks and a merry light in her eyes. It brought a smile to his face. Of all the people he knew, Riven smiled and laughed the least. Every time he pulled one of those out of her, it was a small victory, even if she had to be drunk for it.

"So," she said, slipping a hand under his shirt and trailing her finger along the scar. "What I got from that is that thanks to me, you met with one of the oldest and most famous legends of Ionia, right?"

It was his turn to throw his head back and laugh. When he finally quieted down he looked back down at her, his hand cupping her muscular shoulder and squeezing it gently. For years he had tracked her down with the intent of killing her. When they had met, it was a clash to defy any description. Had there been any witnesses, it might have gone down as one of the best duels of the century. Instead, they had fought each other to exhaustion and finally, unable to keep their swords aloft, abated to throwing insults at each other. In the end, they had even spoken. Reached an understanding, moved forward. Now here they were.

"Yes, I have a lot to thank you for," he murmured and she smiled, slipping an arm around his waist and pulling him closer to her. Perhaps it should have been the other way around, but whenever she wrapped her arms around him, Yasuo felt like he was surrounded in a cocoon of controlled strength. She could lift a sword probably two times her weight in one hand, and hug him with the other.

"Well, you still haven't thanked me for dinner, and I payed," she said, grabbing his beer from his hands and taking a deep gulp.

Yasuo leaned down and brushed her hair behind her ear with a finger. A tremor ran through her body and he brushed his lips against the crest of her ear. "Well, I know a way to do that," he whispered.

Riven licked her lips but kept her gaze fixedly in front of her. "You do?"

"There's a room upstairs," he kissed her right behind the ear. "With a nice bed," his lips brushed against the nape of her neck, right beneath her bun of snowy hair. "I might be able to do something with that."

"Show me." And Yasuo was only too glad to comply.


	3. A room of shadows (Zed & Syndra)

**Story Three: A room of shadows**

 _(Zed & Syndra)_

* * *

The trip back to the Order of Shadows was hard, far harder than infiltrating the palace and escaping its boundaries. Those moments had been fueled by adrenaline and determination. Zed stumbled over a tree branch and vaulted over a small creek. Around him, the wind whistled through branches and old trees creaked in annoyance as they shook. Night fell quickly, ushered in by thick clouds hovering over the horizon. It cloaked the forest in a darkness so deep that Zed was cloaked in shadows. Not even the stars could pierce the thick lattice of branches above him.

Irelia had been better than he expected, she had dueled him with skill all the way until he revealed his powers. If Karma hadn't meddled, she would be dead and Zed gone without leaving a trace of his presence. With a curse, Zed paused and leaned against an old pine. His whole body ached, the lasting pains of his hard run through the Placidium and the plains surrounding it. The guards had chased, but they hadn't managed to track him far. They were city—men through and through. Dark alleys and whispered tips from contacts in the underworld where what they knew. For them, those words traded for gold were as good as a deep print in the mud. The real thing was meaningless for the unpracticed eye.

He touched his hip and winced, pulling his fingers back with blood on their tips. In the last moments of the fight, Irelia had scored a deep gash on his side, as he focused his attention on the Enlightened One. Her blade were fast, faster than any other he had fought and they moved with vicious intent and deadly precision. It would need stitching, which he had never been good at. The trees around him grew thicker together now, their trunks trying to squeeze him into a deadly embrace. One of his hands passed over a mark branded into the bark of an old pine. A circle with two dots in it, he was close.

It only took a few more hours for him to reach the Temple, slipping from branch to branch and dodging the sentries that patrolled the boughs around it. Even in his current state he evaded them like a spirit. The Temple of Shadows was nestled deep in the Ionian jungle, built off ancient ruins that predated even the Rune Wars. Only foolhardy adventurers ever reached this far into the wild and none ever came back to tell tales of what they say. The Order made sure of that.

In ages past, the temple had been used by cultists, outlaws and private armies. No one knew who had come first, but each had left their mark in its various buildings and defenses. Stone mixed with wooden planks and thick logs within the walls creating a medley of colors and architecture. Zed scaled them with ease and ghosted past a sentry, landing on a shingle roof without a sound. The sun had set long ago, but the camp was only beginning to stir. The first groups of apprentices did their stretches and warm-ups under the watchful eyes of the Masters, Zed's best assassins and fighters. None of them would ever reach his potential, but the only way they could hope to try was to embrace the darkness and forget the light of day.

Zed darted from rooftop to rooftop, his feet barely touching the shingles. Exhaustion weighed heavily on his mind and his eyes burned for a rest, but he could not afford to reveal himself in such a state of weakness to his followers. Some of his best lieutenants might take the chance to challenge him. He was good, but they were fresh and well rested. Dying was not on his agenda, neither was killing his best men because of their ambition. One day, one of them would kill him, whether because he was old and weak, or because they were simply better, but only a fair fight would satisfy him.

Finally, the window to his own rooms appeared in his sight and Zed heaved himself through it. The carpet within muffled his fall, but he couldn't suppress a groan of pain as his hip hit the floor. At least the deep red of the rug would hide bloodstains. He hated carpets and unnecessary embellishments, but he rarely slept in his room and the one that shared it with him loved them.

Before he could sink into the welcoming embrace of a warm bed, wounds needed to be closed and cleaned. Grimacing at the thought, Zed dragged himself across the room and popped open the pristine medical cabinet. He had never used it before. Then again, he was never wounded on his missions. Either the enemy died without ever knowing who hit them, or he stacked the odds in his favor before the fight. Like he had with Irelia, he grit his teeth. Needle and thread were easy to find and he grabbed them. His hip burned with another spike of pain and he bent over, pressing a hand against it and limping to the bed. Sitting down made him drowsier, but he forced his eyes open.

A muffled murmur from within the pile of quilts was soon followed by shifting sheets, until a toe pocked out of them and nudged him in the thigh. "Zed," murmured a womans voice, "You're back."

He grunted and glanced over as Syndra propped herself on an elbow, her free hand holding a glowing orb of purple light. The gentle violet light reflected off the snowy waves of hair that washed over her shoulders. Out of their private quarters she dressed in ceremonial clothing, but they now hung near the door. Instead, she had chosen a silky light nightdress that wrapped around her bountiful figure nicely. If he hadn't been wounded, Zed would be holding her tightly to him now and they would not be having this conversation.

Something in his expression must have betrayed his frustration, because her own features tightened and she sat up straighter. "She's still alive."

"Yes."

"I thought you were stronger than her." The accusation bit deep.

"I am," growled Zed, leaning back over his wound and pushing the needle into his skin with a hiss of pain. "Karma intervened."

The bed bounced up as Syndra hopped off and floated into his line of sight. She finished wrapping herself in a robe and stared down at him with a frown. Only the growing smell of ozone in the room betrayed her growing ire. "Karma," she spat. "I should kill her myself. Slowly."

Zed grunted and pulled the needle out of his skin, slamming it onto the table at the end of the bed. It's tip was bloodied and his arm was pockmarked with little bleeding holes. The last time he had tried to sow a wound had been years and years ago and he still had the marks all across his face. At the time, he hadn't been thinking very clearly but ever since, Zed had either avoided getting wounded all together, or gotten patched up by others.

Syndra rolled her eyes and snorted, her eyes flicking between him and the traitorous tool. A moment later, the needle was in her hands and she knelt before him, pushing her hair from her face and grabbing his arm. She ran her chilly fingers along his forearm and Zed shivered. They felt as soft and cold as snowflakes, they always had. "You're incapable of tending to your own wounds."

"I'm not a healer," he replied, closing his eyes and gritting his teeth as the cold metal wove through his flesh like a burning grain of sand. It was a good thing to focus on, a way to keep his frustration and shame at bay. He, the Master of Shadows had gone after a target and failed to kill it, for the first time in his life. It was a small mercy that he had failed to mention his intended target to anyone but Syndra, who had planned it all with him. They would have had to die if he had. Syndra though, she had seen him at his weakest. When he was abandoned by everything he had ever believed in, she knelt beside him in a frozen forest and tended to his wounds, knit up his brutalized features and brought him to her fortress. She had had all the opportunities in the world to kill him at his weakest and instead, she saved him.

"You can plan another hit," said Syndra in a gentler tone.

"She'll be ready this time and she'll use this as an excuse to increase her efforts, get more money from the Council to hunt us. I failed." The words burned at his tongue like liquid fire.

"Then we shall find another solution," a particularly sharp jab of pain made him curl his fist into the sheets like a vice. "Done, keep it clean or it'll scar."

"I thought you liked scars," said Zed, stretching out his arm and grabbing her by the wrist as she stood up. Her slim fingers disappeared into his grasp. Zed pulled her towards him in a swish of purple silk and white hair, until she was flush against him, his face nestling against her stomach.

One of her hands ran through his short black hair, her nails scraping against his scalp and sending shivers down his spine. He held her closer, inhaling the scent of the soaps she used in her baths. They were fresh from her nighttime abulitions. "Come to bed with me," he murmured.

Syndra's hand paused in his hair and fell to his shoulder, stroking his bare flesh. "Hmm." With a short shove, she pushed him onto the bed and Zed fell onto his back, staring up at her. She was beautiful in the dim light, waves of mystical purple surrounding a statuesque figure of marble. Only the malicious glint in her eyes marred the picture.

"You couldn't even defeat Irelia, what makes you think you can order me around?" She spun on her heel, grabbing her thick fur coat and slipping out of the door. "When you've stopped being ashamed over it and are ready to plan, come find me."

With a groan, Zed stared up at the stone ceiling and passed a hand over his face. This was going to be a long night. His wounds burned like little lines of molten metal, but they were nothing compared to the furnace Syndra had lit within. The same she always did.

* * *

 _A/N: Hope you liked it, I rewrote it 3 times and still am not too pleased._


	4. Brooding (Vayne & Leona)

**Brooding**

(Leona & Vayne)

* * *

"You would brood on such a beautiful day?" asked the woman, a kind smile on her face. She looked like a mother, someone who children would run to and hug, begging for treats and laying their concerns upon her. Vayne thought it must be annoying to bear the burdens of others all the time and the woman did indeed have small creases around her eyes.

"I don't like the sun much anyway," replied Vayne turning back to the view and propping her chin in her hands. The granite of the balcony rail was warm against her elbows, slipping through her one-piece and giving her chilly skin a taste of the sun.

"I knew a woman once, who did not much like the sun," said the woman -who had yet to introduce herself, didn't they still teach the nobles to do that?- She walked up to Vayne and leaned against the balcony beside her, staring out across the sparkling city. The sun didn't make her squint even though she stared straight into it. Now that she was closer, Vayne had a feeling she was not talking to a woman of nobility. Perhaps a caravan leader? They often lived a rough and dangerous life.

Her arms were bare, uncovered by a pale, sleeveles sundress, but they were pitted with small scars and knotted with hard muscle. Even her face, so kind and warm from afar now looked harder, like solid amber. She looked at Vayne with kind eyes, far to compassionate for comfort. People who tried to pity others had always made Vayne uncomfortable. Like people who gave unecessary compliments, one of the reasons for which she had forsaken the court of Demacia. "Her name was Diana, she favored the night and the moon. She brooded a lot too."

"What happened to her?"

The woman sighed softly and stared down at the children playing, far below them in the streets. "I do not know. She was to be executed in my homeland, but I spared her such a fate."

"She was going to be executed for preferring the nighttime?" asked Vayne, raising an eyebrow at the intruding woman.

"For worshipping the Moon, resurrecting an ancient and harsh religion. Such a religion should never take root again, but not at the cost of her life."

"Being soft doesn't save lives," replied Vayne with a scoff. Another naïve idealist, Demacia was full of them. Demacia attracted them like flies, tending to all their hopes and dreams, then crushing them without a second thought once the time was right. At least Noxus never even gave you the illusion of hope.

"I have been hard before, Shauna Vayne. Has it worked for you?"

"How do you know my name? Who are you?" snapped Vayne. Her hands balled under her chin and she straightened quickly, turning to glare at the radiant woman. Couldn't people leave her with her thoughts? She avoided company for a reason.

"I heard that there was a monster-hunter of some reknown visiting, and I set my mind to find them, the description is quite accurate. As for my name, I am Leona of the Solari."

"Oh," _Shit_ managed Vayne, as her mind rushed to process the influx of information. From being famous enough to have whispers of her enter the court when she returned for a brief visit of the capital, to realizing she had just been downright rude to one of the most esteemed people on Runeterra. "I'm sorry for being brusque my lady," she said, her voice loosing its edge. Tainting her relations with the city officials by enstraging an important visitor would do her no good in her work.

"Don't worry yourself about it," said Leona with another smile. Was she always smiling? "You spoke frankly, and you have a lot on your mind, I can see it. Tell me about it." The radiance that seemed to surround Leona made more sense now, as did the warmth and kindness that seeped out of her every pore. No noble of Demacia had her bearing. They were either to weak, or too twisted of heart to be so genuine.

"Diana, what did she brood about?" asked Vayne after a short pause. The sun was beginning to set over them and it cast long shadows throughout the city, covering it in a patchwork of darkness and glittering blue roofs. Far below, the crowds were thinning as people returned home for their meals. No doubt, the dinner bell was ringing in the castle too.

"Her beliefs, the rejection of her people when they found them out, her loneliness, her pain."

"How do you know all that?"

Leona smiled, but her eyes stayed dull and sad. Even the light around her seemed to dim, though it might only have been the setting sun. "She was my friend, once."

"Didn't you help her? Before the execution I mean."

"I tried, Shauna Vayne, but she refused to share her troubles. In the end, I learned only what she believed in when it was too late. She had kept it bottled for too long, and it broke her."

"So what, you expect me to tell you all my troubles now?" said Vayne with a snort. She turned away from Leona and crossed her arms. Was this some sort of therapy now, like her distant relatives had tried to force her into afer the deaths of her family?

Instead of being offended though, Leona laughed. It was a nice sound, soft and warm like a river at noon. She walked up beside Vayne and touched her forearm with the tip of a finger. There was a twisted scar running down her index, as if someone had tried to slice it in half. "No, I don't. I expect you to share them with one who is close to you, who cares deeply for you. Not everyone in this life carries the same burden, some of us must share it to make it manageable."

Leona smiled once more and patted Vayne on the shoulder, just as the dinner bell began its distant toll. With a wink, the Solari bowed her head politely towards Vayne and left the balcony, leaving Vayne alone to process what she had been told. Vayne stood there until the moon was high in the sky and when finally she stirred, it was to stare up at the milky crescent as it made its slow trip across the sky. Diana had been broken by her secrets, she would not follow the same path.


	5. A new light (Diana & Pantheon)

**A new light (Diana & Pantheon)**

* * *

Stones turned to grass beneath her feet and snow melted into rapid rivers, yet Diana didn't slow. Even when the slope became a gentle incline, then a great flat expanse, her feet continued to pound on the dirt, as relentless as the sunrise in the morning. She had lost feeling in her legs hours ago, as she stumbled from boulder to boulder, tripping and falling down the sheer sides of mount Targon, nearly blinded by the blood pouring from her face. A small mercy that hid the ache of exhaustion running rampant through her body.

Even now, she could feel a warm trickle of blood as it dripped off her nose and fed the tender grass below. A deep crust of dried blood caked one of her eyes and the other was so filled with the red liquid that the world was as if behind a red lens. Even the moon, as it shone high above her looked like a drop of blood.

"Why?" she croaked through a parched throat, so dry that it hurt to even breath. "I believed," she whispered, before lapsing back into silence.

She had believed in the Moon, trusted what she had found and tried to speak of it to her people. Instead of being acclaimed for bringing back long-forgotten knowledge, she had nearly died at the hands of those she thought were the wise leaders of her order. Only the help of her old friend had saved her from the axe. She cracked a small smile that split her chapped lips. Old friend indeed, for Leona would never welcome her again. She had asked Diana to escape quietly, far away from Targon. Instead, Diana had returned to where the ancient artifacts of the moon were being stored, awaiting their destruction. Every step away from them had been anguish, a deep seeted pain that dragged her back until she had had no choice but to break her word to Leona. She had killed half the guards of the palace to retrieve her artifacts, and the other half to escape.

Now, she knew what hunted her. Those that ran after her deranged footsteps, followed her rambling trail down the mountain and into the deep jungle that layered the ground below like a carpet, they would not be as soft and weak as the Solari. They would come with spear and shield, ready to strike her down.

Either she stayed and waited for them, or fled until she was so far from their homelands that her trail turned stale and disappeared into the sands of Shurima. Perhaps there, she would find others who believed the words of wisdom she had brought back from the ancient vaults of the moon. In a world that flat, the moon could be seen all night. She would enjoy watching it travel through the heavens.

Diana stumbled and cursed as a branch appeared before her, as if out of nowhere. She paused and leaned on the curved moonblade, staring back at it with a frown. Her mind was slow, creaky with exhaustion and an all-consuming thirst. They had not fed or watered her in her cell. Why would they when she was destined to die?

There was no branch behind her. No branch was that straight, nor did it have a metal tip at its end. Diana sighed softly and closed her eyes for a moment, re-opening them only to stare into the wide bronze disk of Pantheon's shield. The champion of the Rakkori. "You took your time," she croaked.

Pantheon said nothing. He never had, perhaps his tongue had been removed at a younger age. After all, he had always been good at replacing words with actions. His muscles bulged as he ripped his spear from the ground and pointed it at her. All around, a dozen other rakkori soldiers lifted their spears and slowly closed in on her, until she was surrounded by a thicket of steel and bronze. A dozen reflections of her stared back with brown eyes.

Even to herself she looked pathetic, and a small giggle escaped her. She was thin, gaunt and dirty, with a face as red as the sashes tied around her pursuers waists. Oversized armor encompassed her like a shell, steel crafted for the last champion of the moon. So this was the end, precipitated by the stupidity of her old masters, their unwillingness to relinquish even a sliver of their power to the Moon. Perhaps she could avenge herself on them again in the afterlife, where she had sent them only a few hours before.

"I'm sorry," she said, looking up at the moon. It seemed to glow brighter as her final hour approached and Diana smiled. At the very least, she would be reunited with it once the spears ran her through. They were made of true steel, a metal found deep within Targon itself. Even the armor of the Moon would fail before them. "I wish I could have done more."

Then, everything went white and Diana screamed.

Even later, she would never be able to accurately tell whether it was a scream of extasy or pain. A burning sensation ran through her body like liquid fire, tearing through her veins until she felt like her skin would peel away and her blood would boil into vapor. She saw glimpses of the world around her, bathed in an ethereal glow that made the soldiers shields shine like pearls. Every sinew in her trembling body writhed like crazed worms and her fingers stretched out until she could feel the bones within them popping and snapping. Even her mind changed, as a rush of information and knowledge surged through it and ripped her brain into a frenzy.

When she thought she could take no more, the light suddenly stopped and Diana fell to the her knees with a gasp and a whimper. She clutched onto the sword in her hands as a support, her breaths coming in short, heavy gasps. Though the night had been cold and bitter, she was drenched in sweat as she rose once more. Had she not been shorter than the men around her? Why did she now see above their raised shields? Most importantly, where was the exhaustion that had plagued her for days? Something simmered in her mind, like an idea in the making, just waiting for the perfect moment to erupt into her consciousness.

Diana lifted her crescent sword and it shone bright, like a blade of pure moonbeams. A smile crossed her lips as she looked around slowly. She _understood._ The moon had answered her, she could feel the power now, as if it were the flow of a river and she controlled the dam. Its currents long lost friends that had patiently waited for her to find them once again.

Her armor no longer felt loose and awkward on her measly body. Instead, where she had once been nothing but skin and bones, she felt powerful muscles shift beneath her armor, filling it in until she felt like the steel had been tailor made for her own use. She looked like a pale panther in the shields of her foes, with a glowing symbol on her brow and eyes of silver.

Tears filled her eyes and Diana's lips trembled and she stared up at the sky once more. "Thank you," she whispered into the night, her voice smooth and strong once more. The moon had blessed her, and Diana would honor that trust.

The soldiers around her were strong, unhesitant veterans of a thousand battles and duels to the death, but even they had been given pause when she transformed. Now she turned her attention to them with a vicious smile on her lips. Their task would no longer consist of shoving a spear into a broken woman. "Who will do the killing now?" she asked, lifting her blade horizontal to the ground and circling slowly, watching them with eyes that glowed like molten silver. "Who is the helpless whelp now?"

One of the men yelled and leapt forward, his spear at the ready. Diana was already moving by the time he finished his first step. Somehow, she knew what to do when his spear came flying at her. The power she had been given surged through her body and she disappeared into a blurr of moonlight, only her blade remaining solid as she tore through the soldier, and appeared behind him.

He coughed once. A drop of blood fell from her blade. His bissected body fell to the ground, piece by piece and Diana turned around, flicking the blood from her silvery sword. He was unworthy of tainting it with his life. All of them were.

They attacked then, together, in a mass of sweat, muscle and steel. Diana lifted her sword and surrendered herself to the power surging through her like a raging ocean against a cliff. They fell one by one as she dashed between them, faster than light, as untouchable as the moon. Their spears missed her by inches, but her blade hit with every strike.

Necks split open in sprays of blood, stomachs released their contents onto the grass and limbs flew in a bloody orchestra of pain and power, until none were left standing, and only one still lived.

Diana breathed heavily, her chest rising and falling with each exhalation. The new power that ran through her veins surged and roared in her ears, as essential as the blood it accompanied to her heart. The mad grin that had remained on her lips throughout the fight slowly faded, but the blood that coated her from head to toe stayed, its stink permeating the air around her.

"The Moon lives whithin me, Pantheon. It was a foolish fight." He was at her mercy now, her curved blade resting on his neck as he kneeled before her, the tendons in one of his legs slashed beyond repair by the cruel tip of her blade.

"End me, I have lost," he replied, his voice deep and rocky from disuse.

Instead of striking the final blow, Diana slowly pulled back her sword, resisting the urge to swing once and cleave head from body. She was a follower of the Moon, not a psychotic killer. Not unless they sook her death first. "No." Diana turned her back to him, he was no longer a threat. His spear lay at his feet, shattered, while his shield had been rent in two by a vicious blow of her blade. "Return to your people, tell them to leave me be, or die like these soldiers."

She had places to see, the Moon to commune with and a world to experience, far from the savages on Targon. Just before she crested the nearby hill, Diana turned back to Pantheon with a small smile on her face. "Oh, and tell Leona that my debt has been paid."


End file.
